


The Light

by Starlithorizon



Series: Alchemy and Guitar Ties [40]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur what are you doing, Established Relationship, Homophobia, M/M, This isn't very fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-11
Updated: 2013-09-11
Packaged: 2017-12-26 07:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/962999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlithorizon/pseuds/Starlithorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Arthur encounter some vicious darkness while in Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light

**Author's Note:**

> So someone posted a comment on my most recent work, and they just call themselves ER. We'll get into the fact that I call them Endoplasmic Reticulum in my head later, though.  
> Anyway, the prompt was thus: "I'd be curious to see how they'd deal with homophobia, particularly since they fly to countries where they would not be accepted. In the fic where they went to Russia, I think when Arthur realized he was at home with Martin, it brought to mind Russia's anti-gay law that's been attracting attention recently. I just have this mental image of someone making snide remarks and Arthur letting out his Carolyn side."  
> I haven't dealt with anything like that in this fic, or in anything really. I only know what it looks like from a very distant perspective, almost exclusively through a screen. So if anything at all doesn't ring true, please let me know and help me to fix it. And I'm aware that this is them getting off light, and that it's entirely possible that the scenario I've written out could potentially lead to much more danger in Russia now, but A) it's not a situation I feel I know enough about to write it properly, and B) I don't want the boys to get hurt! I love these dummies.  
> This is a different side to Arthur, one that I sort of like portraying. He poked his head out into existence in "Fool's Paradise," but I haven't dealt with it much.  
> Anyway, enough blabbering from me. I hope you enjoy it!

There was something about Russia that just meshed poorly with MJN, truth be told. Whether it was a goose going through an engine or a hotel serving as a front to the Russian mob (it was no surprise that Douglas, the one to get them into trouble, saved the day), it seemed there were big glowing signs telling them to avoid the massive place. But, of course, money talks, and it told them to visit Russia more often than they really preferred.

The flight to Moscow was fine, and really, everything went off without a hitch the first day. Carolyn landed frightfully cheap accommodations, Douglas found sushi, and the Crieff-Shappey couple (married two years) got to spend a whole evening watching movies on Martin's decrepit laptop. It was a lovely night for everyone, and all slept peacefully.

In the morning, they found a cheap little cafe that, while a bit faded and worn, served some of the best pastries in the former USSR. The group sat at a little table in the back corner, laughing over past jobs and recent clients. Eventually, the shielding bodies of Carolyn and Douglas decided to spend their free hours seeing what Moscow had to offer while the couple would eventually return to the hotel. Right after they finished their coffees. Their hands were on the table, loosely laced and warm in the bit of sun that fell from a skylight. Their skin gleaned where the light shone on it, and they were peaceful.

That was when it all went to pot.

Martin was the one to notice the sneering middle-aged woman in the denim jacket. And the young man in the track suit. And the old woman in the floral dress. Every eye that fell upon the couple was an unhappy one.

Martin and Arthur had traveled the world, first as colleagues, then as friends, then as a couple. They had seen more than most got to see. They'd visited grand monuments and ridiculous roadside attractions. They'd eaten crepes in Paris and chicken nuggets in Toronto. They'd seen a baby born on the plane (that had been the _worst_ mess for Arthur to deal with, but it was nice to see the happy little baby and her happy little mum) and they'd seen a man killed by fire extinguisher foam on the plane. They'd witnessed first kisses and last kisses in airports.

Martin and Arthur had seen a lot of the world, and a lot of its people, and they had done so much of it as an openly gay couple that they took the mindless acceptance of most places for granted.

Not so here.

They'd gotten less hostility from the Deep South in America, and with the way some of the men stared, eyes hot and sharp, Martin felt fear like shards of iron scrape gracelessly down his spine.

He separated his hand from Arthur's and took a long, slow draw from his coffee.

He did not take his husband's hand again.

Arthur, busy chattering about the aliens of one of their movies, didn't notice. His free hand swung back into time with the gestures the other was making, gesticulating as wildly as he ordinarily did. Martin's smile was slow and shadowed, but he wore it just the same. He wasn't sure who it was to comfort, honestly.

Eventually, Arthur finished his coffee and Martin took one last sip of his own now-cold drink. With that, they left the cafe, bell jangling horribly in Martin's ears. He pretended not to notice that some of the sneering men had gotten up and left the cafe as well. They were loud and boisterous, shouting in Russian and leaving Martin glad that he didn't know the language.

" _Ey, gey mal'chikov, kuda ty idesh' ?!_ "one of the men shouted aggressively, lurching forward and drawing himself into the couple's line of sight. He gestured at their separate hands, horrible smile painted across his face like blood. " _Pochemu vy ne derzhas' za ruki ? Ty boish'sya? Vy dolzhny byt'_."

Martin shook his head at the bully, vaguely understanding his gestures and body language, not wanting any trouble. Arthur, on the other hand, frowned in confusion and stopped. Martin and the angry men did the same.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said slowly. "We don't speak Russian."

"He said," growled another of the angry men, slick and eerily calm, "that you two must be too scared to hold hands. And that you should be."

Martin cowered a bit, wishing desperately that he had the guts to hold his husband's hand even while they were surely beaten to death. Arthur, however, stood a bit taller. With his breadth and height, Arthur was very nearly intimidating if you never saw him smile or speak or, well, do anything. He looked down on the slightly shorter men and raised an eyebrow, mouth turned down at the corners.

"Why should we be scared?" he asked, voice colder than anything Martin had ever known.

"Because," the frighteningly calm Russian man hissed, "someone might see that and think you were _feya mal'chikov_. Someone might think that and have problems."

His thick accent dripped over the menacing words like blood and Martin cringed.

"Are you one of those someones?" Arthur asked softly. His voice slipped into a lower, sharper register that had Martin reeling. He'd never heard something so ominous from his beloved, and it was very strange indeed.

The Russian man smiled like a shark, and his gooneys, though they were unable to understand, began laughing and jeering and crying " _Udardevochki! Pereryv ikh!_ "

Martin had seen mobs before, and had been caught in more than he cared to admit. He had never been on the receiving end of one, though, and never for something like _holding his husband's hand_. It filled him with fury, and misery, and dear God, _terror_. He couldn't understand what the others were yelling, but he had a good idea that it wasn't anything good.

People died from things like this. People were killed here for being gay. He had been so _stupid_ , and he wasn't the only one about to pay the price.

He reached out a hand, brushing his knuckles against the back of Arthur's hand. If they would be killed, it would be together. While that didn't help much with the fear, it did make him feel closer to something like tranquil. Like it would be all right. No matter how much pain there would be.

" _Da_ ," the translator snarled, and Arthur looked like rage personified. He had truly never seen someone look so goddamn _lethal_ , and they were surrounded by thugs willing to beat them for being who they were.

For the first time, Martin saw Arthur standing there, placid and calm and looking for all the world like he could happily rip out some throats with his teeth, and knew that he was the combined efforts of Carolyn and Gordon. Frankly, he looked like Carolyn facing off with Gordon, only much more threatening and ominous. He looked like a tiger facing down prey.

"Well," Arthur said. No, _snarled_.

The man laughed like a movie villain and Arthur didn't move an inch. He didn't blink, barely breathed. Martin and the other men all watched Arthur and the translator, hushed and waiting to see what would happen. "It seems _we_ have some problems."

Slowly, deliberately, Arthur reached out and took Martin's hand. His eyes never left the dark pools of the translator's.

The translator snarled and lunged, hands out and reaching blindly for a throat, and his face connected with Arthur's fist with a wet _crack!_ and blood exploding in the cool blue sunlight.

" _Ya budu kozhu vam za eto_!"

He burst forward, ready to slaughter Arthur, but Arthur was much stronger. He brought a knee up and into the thug's stomach, effectively stopping his attack. He snarled and turned round on the rest of them, their translator groaning on the pavement.

"You'll leave us alone!" he roared, stepping forward menacingly. "Okay?"

Some men tightened their fists, longing to lash out, but Arthur shot them looks of such unconcealed fury that even Martin cringed. Eventually, they all sagged a bit, still glowering fiercely at their conjoined hands. Arthur stepped over the felled thug, pulling a dazed Martin along behind him. Once they turned a corner, Martin dragged him into an alley and kissed him soundly.

"That was _terrifying_ ," Martin said breathlessly, smiling up at his husband. "And actually kind of hot."

Arthur grinned, dispelling the last of his frightening darkness.

"No one is allowed to threaten my Skipper," Arthur said, words at odds with the cheery tone of voice. "It just isn't okay."

Martin dragged light fingers over Arthur's cheek, smiling as the steward curled into his touch like a cat.

"I love you so much it scares me sometimes," he whispered. Arthur's smile grew softer, and his arms wound securely round Martin's waist. He bent his head forward, leaning their foreheads together.

"We love each other so much it scares everyone else."

After one last, chaste kiss, they left the alleyway and wandered back to their hotel. They didn't hold hands, due to the fear still crackling along Martin's veins, but when they finally got back to their room, they did much more than hold hands.

* * *

Over the years, they faced a lot of sharp glances and sniggering and outright hostility. Such was the lot of love so grand and luminescent it seared heavily into the eyes of the blinded. Usually, Arthur was a well-contained body of rage, occasionally culminating in blows and broken noses and (once) broken hands. Sometimes, Martin snarled and flickered in his fury like fire, and sometimes, the others of the crew were there to lay waste to blind dissenters.

Sometimes, things that are true and bright and good illuminate the shadows in others' hearts, showing the cracks and threats lying in the protective darkness. These people act out viciously in their fear and frenetic desire to bring back the blackness. These people use hate as a vehicle to avoid what they know they don't have, what they might never have. Martin and Arthur knew this, they always knew this, but they knew one other thing, one that carried on eternally and created their quiet legacy.

Light might take away the darkness, the darkness can never take away effervescent and incandescent light. Hate can never temper love, and rage can never obliterate happiness. These things are simply forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations (thanks to Google Translate, if you know Russian and I'm wrong, please correct me!):  
> 1) _Ey, gey mal'chikov, kuda ty idesh'?_ — Hey, gay boys, where are you going?  
>  2) _Pochemu vy ne derzhas' za ruki ? Ty boish'sya? Vy dolzhny byt'._ — Why aren't you holding hands? Are you scared? You should be.  
>  3) _feya mal'chikov_ — fairy boys  
>  4) _Udardevochki! Pereryv ikh!_ — Beat the girls! Break them!  
>  5) _Da_ — Yes.  
>  6) _Ya budu kozhu vam za eto!_ — I'll skin you for that!
> 
> As ever, un-beta'd and un-Brit-picked. Also mostly written between math and geology, so my head was in an odd place.  
> And I've got my fandom-y blog out in cyberspace. I'm at litbythestars.tumblr.com and you can pay me a visit whenever you like. It's a lot of enthusiasm and a LOT of Night Vale and a triple lot of not even being sorry, yo.


End file.
